


Turn The Tide

by kcstories



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Canon Divergence, Community: weasley_fest, F/M, HP: EWE, Post-War, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-17
Updated: 2010-03-17
Packaged: 2017-10-08 01:45:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/71421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kcstories/pseuds/kcstories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When an old acquaintance becomes the Harpies' new owner, Ginny's life is turned upside down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turn The Tide

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Written for themadmermaid during the first round of Weasleyfest.  
> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything you recognise from the books or films. It all belongs to JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Inc., Warner Bros., and any other entities involved.  
> Warnings: Explicit sexual content (both parties involved are consenting adults), some AU elements, EWE, some strong language.

Ginny hasn't thought about him in over a decade. 

In fact, she has consciously shut most of the past out of her mind. 

Her life is very different today, as are her priorities. Old friends, acquaintances and people she once knew but never got along with--even if they did fill her with a certain fascination--are no longer of the slightest importance. 

Family is the only exception to the rule. Well, most of the time, and Percy doesn't count.

She exits the changing rooms and steps out into the corridor to find her good friend and teammate Alice standing there, waiting for her. 

Alice is a former Hogwarts student too. She was one year below Ginny, but they didn't mingle much in those days. It's only since fate unexpectedly threw them back together that they've become close friends.

"Hey Gin," Alice says. "So, have you heard the latest yet?" 

From the look on her friend's face, Ginny can tell that whatever it is, it's hot news, and possibly juicy. Alice is always the first to know the best gossip. "Heard what?" she asks, eyes wide.

"Some rich bloke bought the team."

"Bought the team?" Ginny frowns. "Who on earth would want to buy our team? I didn't even know it was up for sale. And wait"--she blinks--"did you just say: some bloke? A man bought an all women's Quidditch team? That's just--Hades on a hovercraft! Who is he, some kind of nasty pervert?"

Alice shrugs. "I don't think so. He was very well dressed. His cloak looked like pure silk, actually. And he sounds real posh too. Got shitloads of money, I'd wager."

"Really?"

Alice nods. "You know, he was still talking to Madame Unwin only a few moments ago. The two of them just left the building. If you hurry, you can probably still catch a glimpse of him."

Ginny rushes to the window. Through her shower-dampened fringe, she spots the man her friend was telling her about. She instantly recognises him, even with his back turned. It's Lucius Malfoy. She'd know that long, blond hair and haughty posture anywhere.

The last time she encountered him was in rather precarious circumstances. 

They accidentally bumped into one another at _Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes_ a few weeks after his trial. 

He'd been acquitted, of course. Everyone even marginally involved in the case had been convinced that he would be. 

The Malfoys possess a special talent for manoeuvring their way out of any of their self-inflicted messes, and this had been no exception. Lucius' money had moved proverbial mountains, and word had it that he had also spilled the beans on most of his one-time allies; pretty much handed the Ministry their heads on a silver platter.

The mere gall of the man to even dare set foot in Fred's shop was enough to make Ginny's blood boil. She instantly lost all self-control. She lashed out, practically launched herself at him, fists first, and yelled, "You foul, treacherous turn coat. You've never cared about anyone other than yourself, not for one single second, and still you're getting off scot-free while all those innocent people--"

He met her gaze head-on, and cut her rant short before it had even properly started. "Consider this, Miss Weasley, when push comes to shove, how far would _you_ go to save your family from certain ruin?" 

He took a step closer then--too close for comfort--and his cold grey eyes made her shiver with something that wasn't merely fear. She immediately felt even more disgusted, this time also at herself. 

So she turned on her heel and ran out of the store as quickly as her legs would carry her, and even today when she allows her mind to wander, she can hear his mocking laughter ringing in her ears, as clear now as it was then.

Fast forward to eleven years later and he has bought 'her' team. Her livelihood. No, her _life_.

She prays that he won't hold the past against her and seek some kind of belated revenge by giving her the sack.

She doesn't much care about the fame--it's fickle and pointless--but she does need the money, or rather the independence that goes hand in hand with it.

She has fought too long and too hard for her self-sufficiency. Running back to The Burrow isn't an option.

Not now. Not ever.

  
******

  
Two weeks pass and much to Ginny's relief, Lucius Malfoy doesn't show his face again. 

Perhaps the Harpies are merely a promising financial investment to him and he has no interest in the workings of the team itself. 

If such should really be the case, then she has far less qualms about his involvement. 

After all, the vast Malfoy fortune can provide them with better equipment, specialised overseas training, and anything else they might need to help improve their game performance. 

Perhaps this change in ownership might even be to the team's advantage, just so long as the owner himself stays far, far away.

  
******

  
Another uneventful week goes by, and she has almost stopped thinking about him completely, but then one night as she's leaving, she suddenly hears a silky voice behind her say, "Lovely evening, isn't it, Miss Weasley?"

Startled, she whips around. Looking into those stormy grey eyes with their practically predatory gleam, she reminds herself to breathe---out-in-out-in-out-in, large gulps of cool night air, yes, that's the ticket. "What do you want, Malfoy?" Her words sound shrill, and come out a lot louder than intended. _Oh. Bugger._ He was never supposed to notice her distress. 

"What makes you automatically assume that I want anything at all?" he asks. "I was merely on my way home, happened to spot you, and I thought it would be the polite thing to do to say 'hello'. Would you have preferred I ignored you instead? "

She bites back the scathing retort that's on the tip of her tongue, and frowns. She wonders where his home is nowadays. 

If the rumours are to be believed, Narcissa threw him out on his ear a few years ago. Even today, the details of their divorce remain vague, and Ginny is convinced that the silence of the collective wizarding press must have cost the Malfoys a small fortune. _Good._

"I own a penthouse apartment on the other side of London," he informs her as though he just read her mind. "Could I perhaps interest you in a lift home?"

Ginny blinks. "A--_what?_" She gawps at him in confusion. "Do you have a car nearby, then?"

There's no malice to his laughter that follows. His gloved right hand gestures towards the large luxurious carriage with the four white horses that's waiting a little farther down the street. 

Ginny wonders why she didn't notice it before, and feels like slapping herself when she realises--_Of course._ He cast some kind of Glamour on it so that it would remain invisible even in plain sight.

For a brief moment, she considers her options. She's too exhausted to Apparate safely, and accepting his offer would be far more comfortable than a bumpy bus ride. 

"I do live about an hour's drive from here," she tells him. "When I'm tired after practice, I um, usually rely on public transport."

She doesn't tell him that she's been struggling with frequent bouts of fatigue lately. After every training session, she lingers much longer than the others do and continues flying even when her teammates have long gone home. 

Quidditch is a coping strategy of sorts. It has been ever since her nasty break-up with Harry, and she hates to admit it, if only to herself, but perhaps she needs the sport just as much as she does her independence. Maybe even more so.

"You don't mean a Muggle bus, do you?" Utter disgust is written all over his pale face. "How wretchedly unfortunate for you. It would seem that I showed up at the exact right time."

"I-I suppose so." 

Before she realises what she's doing, she allows Lucius Malfoy--once-convicted Death Eater and all-round bastard, though the latter only in the proverbial sense of the word--to give her a lift to her small semi-detached house on the outskirts of London.

He doesn't ask to come in for a coffee, and she doesn't offer him one. Perhaps her tired mind is just playing tricks on her, but she does get the distinct impression that if asked, he might say yes.

  
******

  
After that night, he seems to develop a lively interest in the matches.

Ginny hasn't the faintest idea why he's always there, watching them from the VIP box. No explanation for his presence is ever given, not even 'he wants to protect his investment' or something equally simple that would make a world of sense and might help put her troubled mind at ease.

All she knows is that he's _there_ and that he clearly watches her performances more intently than he does those of the others. 

Every time she's up in the air, his scrutinising gaze is transfixed on her every move. She can feel his eyes burning at the back of her neck, and she supposes that his behaviour should unsettle her.

Yes, it definitely should, and yet it doesn't.

He no longer scares her, not like he used to. 

He does make her angry, however--_furious_\--and he fuels her competitive spirit like nothing or no one ever has before. He fills her with a fierce, all-encompassing hunger to win.

Not because she wants to impress him. No. Gaining his approval isn't her goal at all. 

Every victory is one she needs to achieve for her own fulfilment. 

Every day she yearns to prove that she's the best in her field, strong and professional, and no man on this great green earth will ever put her life on hold again.

Not in the way Harry Potter did.

  
******

  
June brings the Harpies their sixth shattering victory in a row. One more, and for the first time in history, the World Cup will be theirs. 

In the corridor he accosts her. "Congratulations, Miss Weasley. _The Daily Prophet_ is calling you the best Seeker of this century. Not even Harry Potter ever managed to--"

She fixes him with a venomous glare. Just hearing that name makes her blood boil. 

Back home, everything was always about Harry _bloody_ Potter. There was no getting away from the speccy git, or from the condescending remarks about how she used to be his girlfriend; as if she'd ever be able to forget that regrettable part of her past, even without the constant reminders.

"I'd appreciate if you could refrain from mentioning him in my presence," she says curtly, and stalks off. 

Again, she can feel his piercing gaze following her, but she doesn't turn around. She doesn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how deeply he upset her.

She clenches her fingers into fists. He probably knows already. Perhaps he even hurt her on purpose. Lucius Malfoy has always been a horrible, infuriating man.

  
******

  
The next morning, a large bouquet of flowers arrives. It has an unsigned note attached.

"My apologies if I offended you." 

Ginny shakes her head and sighs.

"Who are they from?" Alice asks, obviously intrigued.

Ginny shrugs. "Not a clue," she says, fully aware that for the very first time she's telling her best friend a lie, albeit a harmless one. "There's no name anywhere."

"Ah, a secret admirer, eh?" Alice grins. "Some girls have all the luck."

Ginny sighs. "I doubt it. It's probably just someone wanting to take the piss."

Alice frowns. "With expensive roses? This kind doesn't even wilt--did you know that?"

Ginny slowly shakes her head.

"Whoever sent these must be keen; not to mention loaded."

"I have my own money," Ginny says firmly. "I don't need some... _Maecenas_ buying me overpriced weeds." She wrinkles her nose in disgust.

"Well, I never said you did," Alice points out, "but a girl can never have too much dough, can she? You never know what the future has in store."

'Maybe you've got a point,' Ginny thinks, 'but a girl can definitely have too much Malfoy in her life, and right now, I do--_God_, how I do.'

  
******

  
Ten days later, she returns to the changing rooms after a shower and finds a letter pinned to her locker. 

She sighs deeply and with a sinking feeling in her stomach, rips open the envelope. 

Lucius Malfoy announces that he'll make his move soon. Not in as many words, of course, he'd never be that forward in either speech or actions, but that's what the missive boils down to.

Ginny grits her teeth. 

He still hasn't stopped watching her or pursuing her in a way that might be flattering and romantic if everything about his efforts didn't unsettle her so. 

The history they share is _volatile_, to say the least. He even tried to kill her when she was only eleven. He set her up and left her at the mercy of that cursed diary, the one that brought Tom Riddle back into the world. 

And now...

Now he sends her boxes of expensive chocolates every other day, Honeydukes' finest. She gives them to her teammates, or to any reporters that might be visiting to discuss the Harpies' growing success.

More roses arrive, too. She asks the delivery boy to take them to St. Mungo's instead. Perhaps someone there will appreciate them.

She isn't one bit interested in Lucius Malfoy, absolutely not, but she has to admit that she's beginning to enjoy this game, even though the rules aren't her own.

Perhaps, she thinks, the time has come to change that. Maybe if she turns the tables on him, he'll finally stop.

She does want him to stop, doesn't she?

_Yes._

Despite that recurring dream she's been having about him, the one where all throughout the match he watches her intently with those piercing eyes of his and then accosts her in the changing room afterwards. It's just the two of them there for some reason. 

She remains rooted to the spot as he advances on her--she couldn't stop him even if she wanted to--and without a word, he slips her Quidditch robes off her shoulders, kisses his way down her neck, and...

Ginny shakes her head. Those dreams are nothing but a logical consequence of chronic loneliness. She needs to get laid. That should untangle that knot of confusion at the pit of her stomach and take care of these foolish cravings, at least for a little while.

Tonight she'll go to a bar, take some random bloke home--he doesn't even have to be blond; perhaps it's better if he isn't--and get Lucius Malfoy out of her system.

Ginny turns around and almost yelps when she spots the elf standing by the door. 

"Sorry to disturb," the creature says. "Mister Malfoy wanting to see you." 

"Is that so?" she snaps, crossing her arms.

The elf nods hesitantly. 

Ginny's knee-jerk reaction would be to yell, scream and tell the creature to sod off this very instant, but she has heard the rumours. 

Lucius Malfoy, or so the story goes, has been known to kick his house-elves from time to time. Of course there's a realistic chance that all such claims are nothing but rumours, like all that nonsense about him beating his son, but still... She wouldn't want an innocent to get hurt on her behalf. The very idea makes her sick to her stomach.

Silently cursing her noble Gryffindor nature to the seventh circle of hell, she replies, "All right. You can tell him I'll be in his office in ten minutes."

"Minksy thanks you, Miss," the elf says and disappears with a pop.

  
******

  
Both hands clenched into fists, Ginny stalks up the stairs. 

Just what the hell is Lucius Malfoy's problem? Who does he think he is, summoning her to his office like she's some sort of... _servant_?

'Technically, he's your boss now,' a mocking voice in her head points out. It reminds her of Hermione Granger and that really does nothing to dissipate her fury.

Lucius Malfoy is still a smug, smarmy bastard. Even Azkaban didn't manage to knock that out of him.

But Ginny will. By Merlin, she will.

Not bothering to knock, she barges right into his office.

He's standing by the window. "Ah. Miss Weasley," he greets her with a wide smile. "How good of you to come."

The sight of his straight and perfectly white teeth makes her want to ask if he's playing the part of the big, bad wolf in this fucked up fairy tale, but she supposes he wouldn't get the reference anyway, so she doesn't utter a word as she strides towards him, fiercely determined to wipe that smug grin off his face one way or another. 

She's ready to shout any insult she can think of--and there's a whole army of them running through her head at present--or even punch him if need be--yes, that might even be worth losing her job over--but somehow, as soon as she's standing right in front of him, toe to toe and meeting his steely gaze, all her earlier plans are instantly forgotten. She grabs his arms and kisses him roughly. 

He's taken aback at first, which surprises her, given his reputation, but soon he's not only responding but also taking charge.

The kisses are far better than in the ones in her dreams. They set every fibre of her being on fire, as his hands wander down her back and pull her flush against him. 

When they finally separate, her cheeks are flushed and she's breathing heavily. She's no virgin by any stretch of the imagination, but she can't remember anyone ever having kissed her like this.

He clears his throat. "This is most irregular," he says, releasing her completely.

"Is it?" she challenges. "How so? It was only kissing. Surely you'd done it before?"

He says nothing for a moment, obviously gathering his bearings and struggling for words. 

'He's as affected by this as I am,' Ginny notes with satisfaction. "Then why did you send me all those gifts?" she asks with a directness that takes him by surprise. "Did I misread the signs, or has this whole thing been some kind of test?"

He meets her gaze head-on. "I was hoping to court you," he replies in the same tone she supposes he uses when he's clinching a business deal. "A quick... shag in my office wasn't exactly what I had in mind."

"Court me," she repeats. The old-fashioned term almost makes her laugh out loud, but she soon realises that not only is he from a different generation, he was also born into a far more conservative lifestyle than her own. She didn't misread as much as misinterpret his intentions. Perhaps she doesn't know him as well as she presumed.

"I don't believe in 'flings', Ginevra," he states plainly. 

She swallows hard. It isn't much of a surprise that he wants her, he has made that obvious, but he fact that he wants her for keeps is nothing short of mindboggling.

"Um. Wow," she says. "So you were planning to... court me, not shag me."

He frowns and moves to speak again, but she beats him to it:

"Is there any reason why we couldn't do both?" 

She exhales, relieved that the tide has turned again. It's another challenge, tit for tat. He's no longer in control and he clearly doesn't know how to handle it. Or does he? 

"Both," he says slowly, an unreadable look in his eyes.

She nods, closes the distance between them, and before he can add anything further, she kisses him once more and presses herself against him.

Through the fabric of her thin summer dress she can feel that he's hard. Of course he is. She briefly wonders how long it has been since he last...

No, that doesn't matter. She doesn't even _want_ to know. With his money and dashing good looks--even at his age--he can probably have any woman he desires. 

"Are you absolutely certain?" he asks as they break apart for air.

"Yes," she says. "I'm not some shrinking violet, you know. I want you... now."

"Very well." He looks around, casts a locking spell on the door, and then grabs her hand and leads her to his desk. 

She notices that it's tidy, with neatly organised stacks of paper to the left, a row of quills lined up in order of sharpness to the right and plenty of space in between. She leans back against it. 

He kisses her again, and his hands travel downwards, unbuttoning her dress and caressing every inch of newly exposed skin.

She fumbles with the fastenings of his formal robes. He'd look good in a Muggle suit, she thinks; not to mention that an _Armani_ would be far less hassle to get him out of.

He chuckles deep in his throat. "Sometimes I wonder whether you were raised by wolves rather than wizards." He takes a step backwards and starts to disrobe. "You should pay close attention, Ginevra; for future reference, if nothing else."

She watches him, first with mild amusement then genuine interest. The man is gorgeous, even more so than she thought. 

"What makes you so sure that we'll ever do this again?" she asks, but her voice is too small to convey anything even remotely resembling sarcasm.

Trying to ignore how badly her hands are trembling, she takes her dress off completely and steps out of her shoes. That just leaves her knickers. In her hurry to come up here and give him a piece of her mind, she didn't bother with a bra.

An almost tangible tension hangs over the room. Ginny is well aware that she's on the verge of doing something quite reckless. Her mother certainly wouldn't approve if she knew about this, but then that's hardly anything new. 

Her mother expected her to marry Harry Potter--or failing that, some arrogant dullard like Zacharias Smith--and then pop out lots of kids. The very thought fills Ginny with disgust. Some women have other ambitions. Her family never understood that about her. She loves them dearly, let there be no doubt about that, but on some matters they'll probably never see eye to eye. 

Lucius steps forward. He places his hands on her waist and kisses her hard on the mouth. 

She responds eagerly. 

His large hands roam over her body. "You're even more exquisite than I anticipated," he whispers against her lips. "Who'd have ever thought that you'd grow up to be such a beauty, Ginevra?"

He kneels in front of her and slowly draws her legs apart. He reaches up and pulls her knickers down. His mouth plants a trail of kisses inside her thigh and slowly travels upwards.

Ginny's breath hitches. _Bloody hell, he's not going to..._

He does, and despite all her previous experience, this is definitely a first. 

Through her lust-filled haze, she vaguely wonders whether he'll expect her to return the favour. She hopes so. She likes sucking cock. Doing so gives her a sense of power, even though that's not something she'd ever admit to anyone.

His tongue traces circles over her clit and his long, nimble fingers move in and out of her.

Ginny moans deeply. Her own hands grab her breasts and rub over her nipples. Any remaining apprehension she may have felt is gone, swept away by raw lust that is fast turning into need.

Lucius gazes up at her and grins. "Like that, do you?"

"I'd like it even more if you were inside me." Her voice sounds husky and only vaguely like her own. 

"Very well." He rises to his feet. "May I assume that you're... prepared, or do I have to summon an elf to fetch us a potion, and possibly scar the poor creature for life when he sees us like this?"

She chuckles and replies truthfully, "I'm on Muggle birth control, as it happens. It prevents me from being unable to play for a few days every month. I suppose the protection against pregnancy is an added bonus, even though I don't often--" She bites her lip. What is it about him that makes her feel so incredibly young? It has to be more than just the age gap. 

"I'm aware of that," he informs her. "I've been watching you. I wanted to make sure you were... available before I decided to pursue you."

"Oh," she mutters, surprised and oddly touched by his admission.

"Believe it or not, but when it comes to certain matters, I am a perfectly honourable man, Ginevra."

She opens her mouth to retort, but he stops her. "Turn around." The words are spoken in a neutral tone, but nonetheless send a delightful shiver up and down her spine.

She kicks her knickers aside, grabs hold of the desk to steady herself, and bends slightly forward. 

He grasps her right hip and slides inside her easily with one firm thrust.

"Oh," she gasps.

His free hand seeks out her clit. Ginny moans and moves back against him. 

They fall into a slow, leisurely rhythm, but it's not enough for her--not nearly enough. 

"Faster," she says with ragged breath. "Harder. Fuck, Lucius, what are you holding back for? I won't break."

He obliges, barely making a sound as he tightens his grip on her hip and picks up his pace, thrusting in and out of her vigorously.

"Yes," she breathes. "God, _yes_."

She throws her head back and bites her bottom lip to stop from crying out. Her climax washes over her like a tidal wave and all she can think is that it's been too bloody long and fuck, someone like him shouldn't be _this_ good... 

His release follows mere seconds later. He grunts against her ear as he spills himself inside her.

'So quiet,' she thinks--so _civilised_\--and she almost laughs; almost but not quite because her legs are shaking and she's experiencing serious difficulties remaining upright. 

Firmly but gently, Lucius grabs her arms and carefully helps her down to the floor.

She looks up at him through lidded eyes as he puts his clothes back on. His long, impossibly blond hair is slightly tousled, but he's not as badly out of breath as she is. 

'Typical,' she thinks with a wry smile. He's old enough to be her father and yet he's got twice her stamina. She shakes her head and mumbles, "You should have summoned me earlier. That was a pretty vigorous activity so soon after practice."

He laughs. It's a warm, rich sound that she'd like to hear more of. He is an attractive, intriguing man, and she may have been wrong about him on some levels.

He walks to the fireplace, pours himself a drink--red wine--and fills another glass. "Would you like to join me for dinner later?"

"I suppose I might as well," she replies, some wryness to her tone. "Looks like you won."

He takes a sip from his wine, looks at her, and says with a smirk that no longer looks as evil to her as it once did, "Oh, but I beg to differ, Ginevra."

She frowns.

"Even if you and I were involved in some sort of... game or contest as you imply, the only loser is the idiot who let you go, and I'll have you know that I do not intend to make a similar mistake."

She looks at him then and the realisation hits her like an off-course Bludger. 

She doesn't hate him anymore.

******


End file.
